


Nineteen

by aika_max



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Card Games, Friendship, Gen, Hospitalization, Missing Scene, POV First Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aika_max/pseuds/aika_max
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moody & Tonks play a game of cribbage while she’s recovering in St. Mungo’s after her accident in the Department of Mysteries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nineteen

He doesn't trust me, but that's not saying much because he doesn't trust most people. I think it's because I can change my appearance at will without the use of Polyjuice Potion. Of course with his magical eye, he can still see that it's me. At least I think he can.

Some Chinese philosopher said something once about "keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer." Alastor has lived his whole life that way, and meeting me was no different. Since he didn't know what I was about, he was determined to keep me under close surveillance until he could figure if I were friend or foe. He was the same way about Lupin. A few times I heard him muttering something under his breath about "werewolves and metamorphmagi."

So being that I have always lacked the ability to behave myself, I chose to bother Alastor as much as possible. It's so easy to get under his skin, and I find it endlessly amusing. Half the time he sets himself up for it. His comment to Harry about the lost buttock was classic. How could I just let it pass without comment?

I've done quite a few of missions with him and Remus. As paranoid as he might be, I'd have to admit privately that he really is good at what he does. I would never tell him that, of course. He probably wouldn't even know how to take a compliment anyway. He would just be suspicious of my real intent.

Of course Moody was the last thing on my mind when I woke up in St. Mungo's feeling like a centaur kicked me in the head. Kingsley and Remus both stopped by to check on me, letting me know the sad news of my cousin Sirius. I had no good response to the news at all, and I still don't.

Instead of dwelling on sad things, I always try to find humor in any small way I can. Again my thoughts are on Alastor who just sits beside me and doesn't say anything. The medi-witches tell me that he was by my bed when I was unconscious, too. I have to believe this is some elaborate joke because the Alastor I know would not likely sit idly at someone's bedside. He'd be off in the thick of things trying to bring in another Dark wizard.

Then again, people can surprise you from time to time.

"Do you know how to play cribbage?" he asks me while reaching into his robes for a deck of cards.

"Sure," I reply. It's a Muggle game I learned from my father. We used to play it when I was a kid. I used to practice making faces like the pictures of the cards. My dad said something afterward about never taking me to see any Picasso art exhibits.

He starts to shuffle the cards expertly while I look for the rest of the game pieces. "Are you hiding a board anywhere in those robes of yours?" I ask with a deliberate humor. While technically not impossible to play the game without a board, it somehow loses its competitive edge without it. If there's anything Alastor and I both are, it's competitive.

"Right here," he says as he places the board on the bedside table between us. "Cut for crib?"

I reach for the cards and then stop short. "How do I know you're not going to peek at my cards?" I try to use my full measure of skepticism and suspicion. I figure he'd appreciate that.

"Trust me," he says, and I have to laugh at the oddity of hearing Moody talk about trusting anything.

We cut the cards to see who gets the crib. I get an ace of spades, and he gets a jack of clubs. Ha! I am already off to a good beginning.

As I shuffle the cards he watches me, but only partly. His magical eye is always moving, always searching. It is the part of him that never rests. I honestly wonder how someone who never lets his down his guard could have been held captive in his own trunk for almost a year.

He doesn't talk of that much because it would show a moment of weakness. Strange and paranoid he allows himself to be, but not weak. He doesn't show weakness now either after I slip him the cards to cut the deck again. He doesn't do it because he knows all the tricks of the game, much like the tricks of the Dark Arts.

As I view my cards, I still hide them. I would hide them from an opponent without a magical eye, but this is a challenge. I use what talent comes naturally to me-I morph. With my hands I make new shapes and with my face and hair I change colors and features. In the game as in life, we play to our strengths, and I hope it will be enough. At the moment, the going is slow, though, because I am still in pain.

When we begin to count our cards, I watch him and admire bits of strategy. His mind is brilliant, and it shows in almost every single thing he does. Some things I see Alastor doing in the game are obvious to me, and other things come as a surprise. The game is close because we both play to win. Oh yes, he might have been winning at this game and many others longer than I have, but I still fight with him for all it's worth.

Then there are his fingers that do not change. He is constant in the way I am not. I watch him finely touching the pegs as he moves around the board to mark his points. In that he has finesse and grace that I am pleasantly surprised to see. Who would have known that this old, grizzled Auror could be so gentle? Certainly not all those Dark witches and wizards he caught!

We continue to play, but Moody still has his surprises. He talks to me.

"We'll be meeting the Potter boy at King's Cross before he goes back to his Muggles," he states.

I look up at him, not sure if he expects a reaction. "Who is this 'we' that is going? Is it another gathering of the Advanced Guard?"

"Lupin and myself," he coughs. Then he shows his hand with twelve points.

I smile and make a show of sixteen points in my hand. We are racing evenly and almost at the end of the game. It won't be long before one of us wins, and I am so close I can taste it.

"Dora," he begins, and I look up to him in annoyance. I am not the only one who has learned to pester the other one. "Will you be able to come with us?"

Of course I want to go, but this Alastor is odd. He actually sounded nice to me. Instead of giving in, I evade. Oh, I may not be the poster girl for Auror stealth, but with Moody's help I have become much better.

"With Lupin? Oh, yes!" I try to be extra dramatic. "He's so young and handsome!" I fan myself with my hand for good measure. "Plus, that Potter's a nice kid."

"It wasn't that werewolf who tried to revive you after you were cursed," he mutters. I almost laugh. So Moody has a sore spot where Lupin is concerned. Who would have guessed? Then I really do begin to laugh because the idea is absurd.

Alastor looks at me without amusement and brings his attention back to the game. I have the crib, but he counts his hand first. After a brilliant show, he pegs up to one hundred and twenty points, tied exactly with me. Now it's all over but the crying because I know he'll win.

He holds his cards up in his hand, and waits while I begin to sweat the inevitable. Unexpectedly, he closes his cards like the closing of a fan, and puts them face down on the table. He says, "nineteen," daring me to correct him.

I know, of course, that he's lying. I saw the cards when he played them. I don't know why he has simply stopped, but I mimic his action in challenge. "Nineteen," I say just hoping for a reaction. His only reaction is to gather up all the evidence of the game and hide it in his robes.

As Alastor makes way to leave he sees the green bowler hat I picked it up in a Muggle shop on a lark. He picks it up to twirl in his fingers and I watch with curiosity.

"I will see you in a few days, then," he makes his gruff goodbye.

I nod. "As soon as they let me out of here, I will be there."

He sets the hat down on the table and starts to walk out of the room.

"Wait, Alastor!" I am not sure I ever addressed him directly by first name. "Take the hat. I think it will look good on you."

When he puts the hat on, it does look good in a twisted Clockwork Orange kind of way. If he weren't already scaring little children, this would do it, but I actually like what I see. He leaves, and I wait impatiently for the time when I can do the same.


End file.
